eavesdropping nostalgia

Overheard during my past time in Union Square – “but Mom, where in Ireland am I from?!” Assuming the Mom responded due to the boisterous follow up question from her redheaded and inquisitive son, I hear “but where is Dublin?!”

A snicker broke out of my already slightly parted lips remembering my two days in Dublin after five weeks of WWOOFing (World Wide Organization of Organic Farming) up, down, and up again Ireland’s west coast. Arriving in the late afternoon, Devan and I heaved the last of our compiled luggage out of the Eireann bus (our primary and overused mode of transportation) onto the tourist trashed streets of Dublin. Singing The O’Jays “Love Train” we sounded ridiculous. Still wearing last night’s clothes we looked ridiculous. Additionally, disregarding the unnecessarily large luggage, I cradled an irrationally bought a baby cactus alongside my irrationally bought ukulele. Need I say again, we looked ridiculous. Following the grey, cobblestone road on Temple Bar we openly shared the giddiness of our hangover to the uninterested bar goers we tottered by.

The following 48 hours were as unexpected as they come. I’ll hold further details for the book Devan and I intend to write one day. I will say to my young friend yearning to understand his geographical ancestry, if you want to know where your from visit the raw, un-aged Ireland; go to the West. But always end in Dublin. Day 4

Photo taken of Temple Bar, Dublin my last morning in Ireland, June 2013



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